You Can Be The Boss
by Sunshinecackle
Summary: Scott had so much to teach him about having a good time.


**Title:** You Can Be The Boss  
 **Author:** Donnie  
 **Fandom:** South Park  
 **Setting:** Token's House, Scott Tenorman's Apartment  
 **Pairing:** Scott Tenorman/Firkle Smith  
 **Characters:** Scott Tenorman, Firkle Smith  
 **Genre:** Romance/Spiritual  
 **Rating:** T  
 **Chapters:** 1/1  
 **Word Count:** 856  
 **Type of Work:** Drabble, Part of the Fanfiction-Friends' Weekly Writing Prompts  
 **Status:** Complete  
 **Warnings:** Gay, Slash, Yaoi, Age Gap, Scott is 28, Firkle is 18, Drug Use, Drug Abuse  
 **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything.  
 **Summary:** Scott had so much to teach him about having a good time.

 **AN:** So, this is for the Fanfiction-Friends' weekly writing prompts! This week's prompt was **Love Tropes**. Full prompt at the end. I hope you guys enjoy!

 **You Can Be The Boss** ****

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The first time Firkle saw Scott, shrouded in the smoke spilling from his mouth, legs spread as he lounged on a couch in the basement of Token's home, his heart quivered in his chest. He gulped down the rest of the beer in his red cup, uncertain where said cup ended up as he passed through the throng of people, entranced. Scott's face drifted over the bowl again and he lit up, inhaling deep and holding it for the entire duration of Firkle's stumbling strides.

When he let out the next cloud of foul-smelling smoke, those brown eyes flitted up from the bowl in his lap to the goth tripping towards him. The kid, and Scott was old enough to call him that even if he was eighteen, looked smashed already. He'd been about to offer up the bowl to him, figuring that was what he needed, but the girl beside him snatched it out of his hands. Without the weed, he had almost nothing to offer. The beer beside him was mostly empty and warm, by now, but this fog rolling in on him didn't stop until he toppled right into Scott's lap.

There was laughter to his right, and it only earned the scorn of the pretty little thing seated halfway into his gut and mostly on his left thigh. Wrapping his arm around the small of the goth's back with a soft 'woah' when his balance was, apparently, more compromised than Scott's, he helped Firkle get into a more comfortable spot against his chest.

"What are you doing here, chickadee?" Scott questioned, voice rough from smoking most of the night. "Shouldn't you be in bed, like a good little boy?"

"You're not my dad." Firkle rolled his eyes.

"Could be, for the night." Scott replied, grabbing the bowl again when it tried to make its way past him, "You smoke?"

"I- Not usually." But the idea that Scott wasn't opposed to him made his chest ache with anticipation. "Would you help me?"

"Of course. Pretty little thing like you deserves to feel the clouds at his fingertips." So poetic, too. Even if he called him 'chickadee', the name seemed to fit right now. Firkle couldn't find it in himself to say something disparaging, too drunk to do anything more than nod.

Scott lifted the bowl, lighting it up and guided Firkle through the process to let it into his body. The odd intimacy of the moment was broken, however, when another kid told them they were 'hogging it', and reached over to snatch it out of Scott's hands. Twin glares met him, and the boy Firkle vaguely registered as a kid in his class was up and off the couch, taking the bowl and three other kids with him.

"You took that like a champ." Scott murmured, watching Firkle blowing half-assed smoke rings above their heads. "You think you can handle more?"

"I can definitely handle more." He could definitely _not_ handle more, but he was curious as to where this was leading.

"Come with me. We'll go to my place, put on some Anthrax, and float in our heads." Winking, Scott scooped him up, and unsteady legs carried them up the stairs and out of the party. A few people gave them steady glares, whispering about how Scott shouldn't even be at a high school party. Then again, he usually turned up wherever the weed and booze were free.

Between one blink and the next, they had arrived at City Apartments, and Scott juggled Firkle onto his shoulder to fish his keys out of the pocket of his torn, stained jeans. Met with a sudden burst of hot air, Firkle's lungs failed to fill with air and he coughed weakly, yelping when he was tossed onto the futon Scott usually lounged on.

"Gonna show you a whole new world, kid. You're gonna love this. Heard you goths like to get totally fucked."

He wasn't exactly wrong, either. The goths had had their fair share of cough syrup, and eventually PBR beer Michael could sneak them. Of course, they had never actually forayed into hard drugs, and Scott was known for numbing himself with them.

In a blur of motion, Scott was gone, and returned before Firkle's dazed mind could register just what was happening. He placed something on his tongue, and leaned in to pass it to Firkle's mouth, leaving a soft moan swallowed by his grinning lips.

"Just let that slide on down, hummingbird. You'll feel great in a minute."

Again, he wasn't wrong. Firkle laid back, eyelids at half-mast as the intense high filled him.

It had been the start of a beautiful, wonderful, wicked and awful relationship. Scott liked having a cute piece of ass to rub on while they were high, and Firkle liked having a strong, older guy to show him the ropes in something he'd never experienced. Scott became almost a spiritual leader in his eyes, someone that showed him how things worked, how the universe really _was_. Who knew he'd find something close to love at a party at Token's house?

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 **AN:** Alright! Finally finished my first Scott/Firkle fic! I'm actually pretty happy with this. I hope you guys enjoyed!

Prompt: Love Tropes; Lover And Beloved


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